Changeling
by tromana
Summary: Peeta always wanted to prove that he wasn't just another piece of their Games. Peeta-centric. Katniss/Peeta, Oneshot. Set during Mockingjay.


**Title:** Changeling  
**Author: **tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters:** Peeta-centric; Katniss/Peeta  
**Summary:** Peeta always wanted to prove that he wasn't just another piece of their Games.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Hunger Games, or any characters associated with it.

**Changeling**

The one thing that Peeta Mellark had wanted, more than anything else, was to prove that he wasn't just a piece of the Games. That the Capitol didn't own him, that they couldn't change him.

Of course, even after his first Games, Peeta knew he'd changed. The wealth, the adulation, the attention… the deceit… it all meant nothing to him. It was the nightmares that crawled out in the dead of the night that scarred him more. Watching the Careers kill that first girl; he couldn't even remember her name. Peeta would never forget the sheer panic that occured during the Tracker-Jacker attack, or how his mind felt for days after. He distinctly remembered how it felt when Cato's knife cut through his flesh. Then there was Katniss, sacrificing her safety for him time and time again; he remembered seeing her cut and bloody face, and just thinking 'that was my fault'. The horror he'd felt at seeing Foxface's emaciated body; her greying skin being evidence of the Nightlock poison. She was his kill, technically speaking, but it had also partially been down to her cleverness. Still, he was responsible for her death and nothing could shake that thought from his mind. Then there had been how he'd been forced to watch the pack of Mutts attacking Cato before Katniss delivered that final, deadly arrow straight through his skull. Then there were the others. Thresh, Rue, Marvel, Glimmer… all of them dead, all of them gone. All of them had sacrificed their lives to be the ultimate in 'entertainment'.

He painted them out to remind himself that he was still the same person inside. That he still held the same decent values, and that he was still a good person.

Even when he had discovered what the Quarter Quell entailed, he was determined to cling onto his sense of self. He wasn't drawn to violence, he didn't act out of need and necessity, like Katniss; he was just… him. Quiet, dependable him, who always enjoyed the fine details in life. But then, decent people didn't get out of the Hunger Games alive. In reality, it had been a fluke that he had survived the 74th Hunger Games at all.

And it was a fluke that he had survived the 75th Hunger Games too.

He remembered the chaos, the panic that ensued the moment that the force field had exploded. Peeta had been screaming out Katniss' name in a blind rage, only to be scooped up by a hovercraft. The Capitol staff has been kind and soothing. They'd explained the situation to him: that some rebels from District 13 had kidnapped her, along with Finnick Odair and Beetee.

Meanwhile, the Capitol had successfully procured Johanna Mason, Enobaria and himself.

With patience, they explained the dangers of what the rebels had planned. How disastrous that it would be to Panem should it happen. Caesar Flickerman had been used to pass on this information and Peeta had no reason but to trust him. Soon enough, he was being beautified by Portia and her team. Within days, he had to try and persuade Katniss (and thus, the rest of the rebels) of the truth behind their words, through propaganda clips.

Truth which soon became clear was a lie.

Because then, when it was obvious that the rebels were mounting their attacks on the outer districts, the torture began.

Verbal abuse and physical abuse were used first. He was screamed at whipped, bribed for information about something he had no clue about. As far as Peeta was concerned, there was no District 13. The first he'd heard about its survival was from Caesar Flickerman. They didn't believe him, they never did. Instead, they continued trying to relentlessly squeeze information that he did not contain out of him.

And yet, he didn't blame his captors or torturers. Ultimately, he knew they were just obeying instructions. Probably, these instructions came from President Snow himself. Katniss had been right; there was something untrustworthy about him. If they didn't listen, then they'd have been dead, just like Seneca Crane.

Afterwards, there came the first psychological abuse. The use of Jabberjays; their screams echoed through his cell and in his mind long after the birds had been silenced. Peeta found himself huddling in the corner of his cell, terrified and paranoid. He couldn't sleep, because if he did so, images accompanied the screams that already filled his waking thoughts. It was bad enough hearing his mother, his father and his brothers' pained screams. Other friends, too. Primrose and Katniss…

Oh Katniss… he wondered if she still thought of him, the way he thought of her. If she had even thought about trying to rescue him from this personal hell. Peeta had considered the Hunger Games themselves to be cruel and tortuous; kids didn't deserve to die for the sins of the adults. However this treatment, it was simply inhumane.

When the first needle of Tracker-Jacker venom pierced through his skin, Peeta already knew that he didn't like where this was going. This was their way of changing his spirit, of changing his soul. They were adapting him from a good, innocent human into what? A weapon to use against the rebels? Against Katniss? Or worse, a Mutt? He couldn't help but scream as his first treatment was intensified. His body racked with the sobs which he simply couldn't control.

Somewhere out there, Johanna was screaming alongside him. Just as she had been throughout this entire ordeal. Peeta didn't know whether or not that thought comforted him. Nor did he know just what the two of them had done to truly deserve this kind of treatment. They didn't know anything; they held no power. Ultimately, they had just been two pawns in the Hunger Games. Nothing more, nothing less.

Beyond Katniss' safety, Peeta had only wanted one thing: to remain himself until his dying day.

It looked like he wasn't even allowed to hold onto that singular wish.


End file.
